


Sleepwalker

by Cisc0



Series: Sleepwalker [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Bad Parenting, Boy Trouble, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cisc0/pseuds/Cisc0
Summary: Situation: It's the early 00's. Tweek is suspended after something happened at school. The week before Craig kissed him during track and has ignored him since, and now, if Tweek didn't have enough to deal with, something's happening to him... something like magic.Genre is coming-of-age except gay and with magic.
Relationships: Craig Tucker & Tweek Tweak, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Series: Sleepwalker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764223
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this a couple of years ago when I was stuck on another South Park story that hasn't seen the light of day yet.  
> So naturally this project became much more complicated than the original ( which is still not finished!)  
> I can only laugh.
> 
> I made a playlist of strange music for this story, you can find it on my profile.  
> There's a larger story, even weirder sequel that I'm excited for - so I hope you like this one!!
> 
> This story takes place as if the characters continued aging from the original airing, in '97. Tweek is around 14 this time?

This isn’t a normal story.  
  
It’s not particularly happy, but it doesn’t make a point to be sad.  
It’s what I remember about how things were, and how they’ll always be.  
  
**This is the story of how Tweek Tweak left this world, never to return.**  
  
No more time to explain.  
He’s about to wake up.  
  


* * *

  
He thought he heard somebody calling his name.  
At first he thought he understood what he was being told, but as he returned to the waking world the meaning was lost with it.  
His heavy eyes searched the gloom of his room.  


Alone, as always.  


His bare feet met the carpet, and the door creaked as he pushed it open.  
The lightly perfumed smell of his parents’ house.  
The framed photos of his ancestors regarded him coldly him as he crept past, down the narrow stairs.  
With the click of a lock, he was out of the front door.  
The snow was falling thick and silently, flakes caught in his tangled hair.  
The wind ran between the buttons of his pyjamas and across his skin, but he wasn’t cold. He didn’t feel the pavement slabs, nor the snowy grass between his toes.  
  
It was saying something-. Something he felt like he'd heard before, whispered in his deepest dreams. _Something important._  
This time he could almost make out the words.  
  
_Almost._

“Now what in the hell is going on out here?!”  
The snow crunched under his father’s heavy feet, his keys jingling in his pocket.  
“First suspension, and now-” his jacket was cold and smelled like rain as his arms surrounded Tweek and hauled him gracelessly towards the house.  
His voice was raised, but only as much as it ever was. Something about his mother being freezing, something about how it was no wonder he couldn’t get a girlfriend if he kept acting like a weirdo.  


It was all just noise to Tweek. 

He had nothing to say, and neither did the wind.  
  


* * *

  
Monday came as obligated, and rose with the dawn of a pale sun.  
His midnight revelation melted with it, and it was what constituted a normal day for Tweek, besides the few stalks of grass still clinging to his bare feet.  


The bleeping of his alarm clock woke him, the world still dripping into existence as he silenced it within the first few beeps.  


It was 06:13 and the house was fast asleep.  
The cold morning light filtered through his drawn curtains and across the pale edges of his face as he pulled on his dressing gown and slipped soundlessly downstairs, waiting, legs drawn to his chest, on the sofa by the window.  
Snow fell on the silent street outside.  
Not a single car rolled by.  
He felt at home here, in the backstage, between the scenes, as the set of a new day slowly rolled in.  
He should arrive any second, bundled up in his warmest clothes, his bare fingers cold against Tweek’s as they touched over the newspaper.  
His friend.

He glanced again at the clock.  
The hands meant something, as they chased one another around.  
As soon as there was a sound at the door Tweek was already on his feet, handle in hand and heart in his mouth.  
A boy. But the wrong one.  
“Is Craig ok?” he hissed, opening the screen door quietly.  
“Huh?”  
“Is Craig ok?” he persevered, stepping out onto the mat, eyes wide “Why isn’t he on his round?”  
“This is my round I-.” he held up his hands to show he wasn’t hiding anything “He was only covering.”  
Oh.  


Of course.

“Yeah I know that,” Tweek snapped, snatching the newspaper out of his hand rudely.  


He turned and shut the door quickly.  
He wanted to slam it but it wasn't his house.  
His parents were eager to remind him of that.  
When the paperboy was out of sight he re-opened the door silently, neatly placed the newspaper on the welcome mat, and stalked back up the stairs to the cold solitude of his bedsheets.

* * *

  
He ate breakfast with his mother.  
The radio was the only sound, besides Tweek’s spoon on the side of his cereal bowl, as he tried to fish out exactly two hoops and no more.  
Troops were invading Afghanistan.  
She drove him there.  
School, that is.  


School, school, school, school, school.  
Coffee shop.  
Church.  
And back again.  


The poster was staring at him morosely.  
It was a rat in a cage.  


Things were different in middle school.  
They had specific classrooms for science.  
People were different, too.  
His gaze lowered from the black eyes of the poster.  
Craig was still on the other side of the class, partnered with someone else.  
His teeth, now studded with braces, were hidden behind a dull expression.  
Craig never used to smile much, but now-?  


Speaking of braces, he was now paired with Jimmy, who was top of the class.  
Tweek would be among the bottom if not for him, and they both knew it.  
So Tweek made a conscious effort to stop staring across the classroom and held the apparatus, write down figures, and generally do as he was told.  
But a glance couldn't hurt.  


Jimmy was talking, but Tweek wasn’t really listening.  
He was listening to Craig.  
His lips weren’t moving, but certain looks say more than words, and quite often louder.  
It was just a matter of understanding them.  


Jimmy was adjusting the clamp, lining up the Bunsen burner.  
The teacher wasn’t paying attention. Tweek yawned and settled his head on the desk, now unabashedly gazing at Craig through half-closed eyes.  
Craig’s lips kept moving as he talked to Token, like a TV on silent, but his eyes always rested on Tweek.  
There was something about him.  
Craig.  
Under his watchful gaze, the world would become quiet, and slip away.  
He even foolishly told him about it once.

_“Like dreaming.”  
  
“Yeah like dreaming, but not dreaming. Travelling.”  
  
“Ok. So you go places at night you can’t have been-.”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
“After you fall asleep…”  
  
He remembered biting his own tongue.  
  
“Yeah.”_  


But he didn’t tell him the secret.  
That it only happened when he thought about a future with Craig.  
You can feel it happening now.  
The walls and halls of the school drifting away like the backdrop of a set, leaving Tweek alone in the dark space between scenes.  


He knew this feeling.  
He’d been here before.  
And so have you.  
The fleeting trail of a falling star.  
The constant ebb and flow of waves on the shore.  
The halo around the ancient face of the moon.

And when your lips meet the one that you love.

He should have felt scared, alone in this darkness, but if you know the feeling, you’ll know that he could never be scared.

Even if he should have been. 

He was sinking into a warm world of muddled thoughts, shifting hues and vibrations.  
The last was the thrum of a vibrating bell, underwater.  
Then, all of a sudden it was cold again.  
  
And then it was dark again.  
  
A single shaft of cool blue light was all that remained, like a hole in the ice.  
  
He swam towards it, emerging from beneath a pile of suffocating fabric.  
His breath misted as he gasped for air, arms flailing across... the safety of his covers… amidst the familiar darkness of his bedroom.  
Home...  


His brow knitted together into a frown.  
His curtains, cupboard, desk and drawers…  
Tweek lay his golden head back down, curls resting on his fresh pillow.  


The moon outside his window offered no explanation for the lost day, leaving him to sink back into an uneasy sleep.


	2. Daydream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Long hiatus.  
> I had this story all along I just couldn't get the editing right.  
> Think I can this time...  
> Sometimes you may not know exactly what is happening in this story.  
> Please bear with it.

_Craig’s lips kept moving, like a TV on silent, but his eyes always rested on Tweek._

_Under his silent gaze, the world became quiet, and slipped away._

* * *

It wasn’t dark, it was more like… nothing.

But until you’ve experienced nothingness, it’s simpler to say it was dark.

Slowly, South Park came into view, like a town in a snowglobe.

The wind whistled, and blew flakes of snow from the peaks of the mountains, over the rooftops of houses. Under ice, streams gurgled.

It was the town he had known all his life.

The only town.

And now he saw what became of it.

A horrible truth that had cast its black shadow over the whole of the town’s history.

Perfectly devastating. Entirely unstoppable.

The scream of a candle choked out.

The buzz of every life, caught in a uniquely intricate web, torn apart by a passing stranger.

He wasn’t even eighteen.

He never even-.

He would never, ever, leave South Park.

He would die here.

He would die here.

He would die here.

He would die here.

* * *

They were running cross-country.

South Park Middle School Physical Education.

Somehow it was even worse than elementary school.

It was a grey, miserable day. Heavy, turbulent clouds covered the gloomy sky.

Tweek thought this must be how fish see the surface of a stormy ocean, all dark and confused.

A cold raindrop fell from the sky and ran down his cheek.

“This sucks.” Craig moaned from a few feet ahead of him.

It did.

His legs ached and his throat burned, but he had to keep up with Craig.

"This suuucks!" Craig whined.

Only Tweek saw this side of him. He'd clam up when he didn't like something and only give them one message: "fuck off".

But alone on the track together Craig would show his other side.

Right now Tweek could only see his back.

Neither of them were bad at sports, nor were they particularly good.

They were just there.

Tweek glanced back - a single soul besides them could be found around on the winding road.

Tweek took a gasp of air.

“Fuck running,” was all he could struggle to say.

He dug his feet in harder, stretched his legs further.

One, two, one, two, one, two.

Don't let him think you suck.

Craig turned back to see Tweek, face red with effort, blonde hair bouncing with every stride and his blue eyes, fixed with determination.

Their eyes met.

He smiled.

And the sky rumbled.

Trees swayed and whispered among themselves as Tweek joined Craig's side under the darkened clouds.

Soon they fell from his hair, running cold down his back.

“Fuck this,” he said and ran off the path, into the trees.

Tweek stopped still and watched, as he picked his way carefully through the thick wet grass, then under the canopy of branches and into an abandoned shed.

Abandoned meaning nailed-together-leaning-against-a-tree.

Craig turned to look at him from the threshold, rubbing his own arms in an effort to warm.

Shouldn't they be running?

He looked at the stretch of road behind him.

Nobody.

He could see the town from here.

A bolt of lightning flashed.

Craig's teeth flashed as he yelled from the dry of his shelter.

“Well come on then!” his voice breaking.

“Oh,”

He stumbled through the thicket to join him.

Craig moved over to make space for his friend – not that there was much room for the two of them – and they huddled close together like penguins from TV.

The narrow shed smelled like pine and rust. It was filled with discarded tools, sacks of pesticides, old paintpots, a wheelbarrow. Junk.

Tweek looked out at the rain.

It fell in sheets, and struck the tin roof of their shelter. Every drop was different, but together they were lost, fading into one indistinct sound, like static.

Their wet trainers shifted on the bed of pine needles, the only way to make more room for both of them was to move closer together, and when they settled in place the S.P. P.E. logos on their chests nearly kissed with every rising breath.

He looked up at Craig, only to find he was already being watched.

Their chests rose and fell from the heavy running, their breath was short and warm, but where Tweek’s heart should have begun to slow, it began stirring into action, so loud and hard that he was sure Craig would hear.

He looked into his friend’s eyes nervously, to gauge whether he’d been given away.

If he had, Tweek couldn’t tell. Craigs eyes were unusually fixed on him. Huge. Dark.

Tweek must’ve had the same look, because Craig’s nostrils flared when they met.

It was like nothing Tweek had experienced.

A sense of anticipation, charged with meaning that he didn’t understand yet.

Like his dreams… only this time he was awake - wasn’t he? 

They were friends.

Craig liked him.

He was doing something, he wasn’t even sure until he saw himself do it.

Reaching up and raking his fingers through Craig’s short black hair, slicking it back, off his brow.

It was real.

This was all really real.

“Your hair is really wet,” Tweek said, in a low voice that surprised even him.

God. Why'd he do that?

He'd do it again.

Craig nodded slowly, as Tweek’s fingers brushed smoothly past his neck, chasing the beads of water over his shoulder.

He could see Craig’s pink skin through his wet gym shirt, as he now lifted a hand towards him to comb through Tweek’s unruly locks, bringing them up behind his ear.

If Tweek could think anything coherent he'd wish he could die then, so this moment could be his forever.

This was all he ever wanted in life. Everything else would be a disappointment.

“Yours is too,” Craig croaked.

It was coming, you could feel it like static before a storm, even if you'd never been kissed before.

You could feel it even if you were Tweek Tweak.

Craig’s blue eyes closed, crystal raindrops caught on his dark eyelashes.

He dipped his head, and with wide eyes Tweek's lips met Craig's.

They were soft, Tweek thought, softer than you'd ever think a part of Craig could be.

He didn't know if he was doing it right.

He didn't care.

For once in his life he didn't care.

It felt right.

For once in his life it felt right.

They'd never been so close to another person, and in that moment, they were all that existed.

The great tall pines reached up and brushed the sky, and puddles rippled with the touch of every raindrop.

* * *

Tweek ran his fingers through his own wet hair.

Up over behind his ear.

It offered no comfort.

And he sank back into the warm water of the bath, thinking about how easy drowning would be.

The flickering light of his mother’s candles, the shifting surface of the water and the cruel world beyond it.

His nose stung.

His lips trembled.

The world rippled and shimmered.

Crying underwater.

How pitiful.

* * *

“Mr Tucker,”

The boy pushed his desk forward with a screech.

He gathered his things, slowly.

In no rush, despite the eyes watching him.

He might’ve felt sorry for him; Craig was notoriously terrible at presentations.

He might’ve, only Craig wouldn’t look in his general direction now. 

So for whatever reason Tweek wouldn’t either.

He stared directly forward, listening as Craig slowly tugged his hat on, and shuffled to the front of the class.

He appeared in Tweek’s view, listless, bored, in front of the whiteboard.

“This century, Craig,” the teacher prompted.

He held his notes in front of the class, middle finger raised clearly to everyone besides the teacher.

Some giggled.

Tweek didn’t.

“Uhhhmmm-” Craig began, as though he was finding the right amount of lackluster monotone to start his presentation.

He coughed.

Yeah, that was it.

“South Park’s incestral Rocky Mountains-”

“Ancestral.”

“Incestral Rocky-”

“Ancestral Rocky Mountains.”

Craig’s jaw locked into place. His eyes flickered to Tweek for a mere moment.

Not long enough.

The fluorescent lights of the cheap classroom buzzed quietly. They were full of trapped dead bugs. Posters about drug use, corners full of holes from being tacked and re-tacked to the wall, half-peeling from their places. Kids at the back of the class whispered to one another, laughing occasionally into gloved hands.

In the winter the classrooms would get so cold you could see your own breath.

“They were raised from-. Billions-of-years-old rock. Uhh-.”

He tugged on the ears of his hat.

“The angle of seduction was shallow-”

“Subduction-.”

Craig raised his voice.

“-resulting in a strip of mountains that line western America. Some of the rocks are a billion years old, and formed in the- the-.”

Tweek looked at him expectantly, but Craig didn’t even attempt "Palezoic" and instead skipped over it and cast his eyes down, now reading directly from the sheet without pause.

“-the era. Below the surface of the peaks of the Rocky Mountains lies unusual seismic and tectonic activity. The low velocity of the seismic waves indicate anomalous magmatic history, low-temperature thermochronology and tectonic geomorphology. The-”

“Ok that’s quite enough-.” the teacher put her pencil down “Did you write this Craig?”

Craig lowered the sheets.

“No, I’m not a geologist.”

Tweek scoffed in spite of himself.

“No, you’re a student. Study up and write a report you can read, understood?”

Maybe he nodded.

It’s hard to tell with Craig.

His eyes were fixed on the floor as he dragged himself back to his chair, past Tweek, who was staring at the board.

Just for a second.

For a fragment of a second, they both flicked their gaze to see if the other was watching.

"My dad was a geologist if you want a hand learning to read," Stan said, somewhere behind Tweek, followed by the immediate heavy scrape of an occupied chair being kicked, hard.

* * *

“Craig just took off again, the fuck!” Clyde kicked a shower of gravel across the yard.

“Maybe his dad slapped him around the head or something? Exams are coming up,”

Tweek made a noise in the back of his throat, disagreeing with Token.

“His dad hasn’t hit him since he was like, 11.”

“Then what, he’s too good for the gang?” Clyde pulled his hands out of his pockets; he didn’t have the explanation in there.

“He’s been in the library.” Token said. “We should probably go too.”

“Yeah!” Clyde started

“Let’s ask him to look up anatomy so he can get his head out of his ass,” Tweek muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleep tight! x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading omg!  
> Sweet dreams x


End file.
